


I didn’t call, so please don’t come.

by electel



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, KINDA just for a second, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sad Reki Kyan, Suicidal Thoughts, This is a mess because reki is a mess and so am I, not graphic suicidal thoughts I promise, reki is having a tough night, set after episode 9, sorta renga but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electel/pseuds/electel
Summary: No matter how much he tries to put it out of his mind, his room is a constant reminder of the hobby he’d devoted much of his adolescent life to, the walls around him closing him into what feels like a shrine he built for a hobby that doesn’t suit him. It’s impossible to think of anything else. Even the screensaver on his phone won’t let him forget.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	I didn’t call, so please don’t come.

**Author's Note:**

> UH, I haven’t written anything for this series before but Reki makes me very sad and I need him to be happy by the end of this and also die adam thank you 
> 
> there is genuinely no comfort in this SORRY....it’s just reki after the events of ep 9 sobbing into his pillow and thinking

“This is so uncool.” 

The words had repeated themselves over and over in Reki’s head, like a record that wouldn’t stop skipping. 

Even at this point, he’s laying in bed after giving up on S — and skating, all but completely. Even though he made his decision, he still missed the weight of the pin on his collar on the walk home, he still misses the comfort of having it on him. 

Of course, he adores his family and loves his home, but S was like a home, too. In a way. And the feeling of leaving it behind sits heavy in his stomach, like a ball of lead, and it chokes him up as he turns his head back into his pillow to stifle a pathetic sob. 

No matter how much he tries to put it out of his mind, his room is a constant reminder of the hobby he’d devoted much of his adolescent life to, the walls around him closing him into what feels like a shrine he built for a hobby that doesn’t suit him. It’s impossible to think of anything else. Even the screensaver on his phone won’t let him forget. 

He has half a mind to get up off his bed and pull down every single godforsaken poster and sticker that’s skating related — which is, all of them. 

But of course, he can’t do that. The only thing worse than having constant reminders of his failure would be not having them, because no matter how much he tries to deny it, has been trying to deny it, he loves skating more than anything else. Anyone else. 

Well. Maybe not anyone else. But that’s another can of worms to be opened, and he doesn’t think he has the mental stability to acknowledge that he has a crush on — no. Nope. 

Another sob, swallowed by the expanse of his damp pillow. God he’s so glad that he lives in a house filled with heavy sleepers. 

There’s nothing he’d love more than to simply forget about everything and sleep, but as it so happens his brain is too hell-bent on sifting through the events of the past, oh, week or so, and beyond. 

He wonders, briefly, how difficult it would be to suffocate himself with the same pillow he’s been crying into for the past however many nights, and thinks, man. That would be truly pathetic. 

Reki thinks. 

Thinks too hard, about things that usually come so easily to him. Skating has never given him a headache before, he’s so used to getting straight back up after a fall that it’s still coming as a shock to him that he can’t seem to even lift his head after his most recent batch failures. Now that he thinks about it, he realises that skating was never something that came to him easily, not like it does to Langa, or Adam, or even Miya. He thinks, maybe it’s all those years of failures catching up to him at once that has him laid out in his bed like a guy who’s ready to take his last breath. 

But that can’t be it, right? Not everyone can be a genius, right? He always knew this so why is he suddenly so god damn upset about it?

He thinks again, wonders if it’s because Langa got so good so quickly, but realises no, that can’t be it either. Because nothing will ever come close to the joy he feels when he sees Langa skate.

He goes through his thoughts again, trying to pinpoint exactly when he started to feel like hot garbage every time he set his eyes on a skateboard, and there’s really only one person that comes to mind. But before the thought can go any deeper, he stops himself, smacks his fist into the still damp pillow and rakes a hand through the spiky mess on his head.

“Now you’re just making excuses, even more uncool….”

He wants so badly to blame someone else for his insecurities, but he knows they’re his problem. Nobody else’s. It’s his fault that he’s sobbing into his pillow for the fourth night in a row, it’s his fault he can’t look at a skateboard without wanting to throw up and it’s his fault he can’t even look Langa in the eye! 

It’s his own fault! 

So why does that realisation not make him feel any better? Why did giving his badge back not make him feel any better? Why does nothing make him feel any better? 

He thinks, for a minute, maybe he could just disappear and that would be okay? And yet, as soon as the thought enters his mind, another son is ripped from his throat before he can muffle it into the pillow. 

He knows he doesn’t want to do that — knows he doesn’t want to just disappear, because he thinks of the faces his mom and sisters would make if he was gone. Thinks what Miya and the others would say if he was gone. 

Thinks what kind of face Langa would make, if he suddenly disappeared. He knows he couldn’t put everyone through that, because as much as he wants to deny it, it’s absolutely is an undeniable fact that these people care about him, as much as he wishes they didn’t. 

Or does he wish that? 

Does he? 

What would he do if all of these people truly stopped caring about him? The well of his thoughts is deep and dark, and he feels like he’s been sinking ever so steadily to the bottom. It hurts to think what sort of new low he would sink to if he truly believed that everyone stopped caring about him. 

The fact is, he knows they do care for him. And he can’t face them, because he’s been assassinating their characters in his brain in order to make himself feel better and he doesn’t think he can look any of them in the face, knowing this. Like they’ll know what he’s been thinking as soon as they meet eyes. 

This dilemma is what has him sobbing into his pillow in the middle of the night as if he doesn’t have to get up in the morning and spend the day sitting beside the most talented, gorgeous — no. Stop it. 

God damn it, he knows that he could pick up his phone right now and text one Canadian, and he would show up as if it wasn’t four o’clock in the morning, and that’s precisely why he doesn’t. It was already almost too painful to look at him earlier tonight, surrounded by a crowd. Speaking to him alone while being deafened by his own thoughts? Absolutely can’t happen. 

That’s why he turns off his phone, shoves it under his pillow and turns to stare at the ceiling.

God, his head his pounding. His face feels raw. His eyes are tired. And yet every time he closes them, the image painted in painstaking detail on the backs of his eyelids is just — Langa. It’s always Langa. 

Despite this, he tries anyway. Squeezes his eyes shut, and, with no comfort nor resolution for his chaotic thoughts, allows sleep to take him for a couple hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this mess!!! If you wanna yell at me about it catch me @electel_ on Twitter


End file.
